s
now two days since you killed the moose. They could not have been
near in a body to hear that shot fired, for it is hours since they
overtook this man, following him up from the other slope. But a
scout might have heard it and climbed across to warn them; yes, that
is possible."

But here Muskingon came crawling back. He had inspected the ground
by the lip of the descent, and in his belief the dead man's pursuers
were three or four at the most, and had hurried down the hill again
when their work was done.

Menehwehna nodded gravely. "It is as I thought, and for the moment
we need not fear; but we cannot spend the night in this trap--for
trap it is, whether watched or not. Do we go forward then, or back?"

Barboux cursed. "How in the name of twenty devils can I go back!
Back to the Richelieu?--it would be wasting weeks!" His hand went up
to his breast, then he seemed to recollect himself and turned upon
John roughly. "Step back, you, and find if the others are in sight.
We, here, have private matters to discuss."

John obeyed. The first turn of the cliff shut off the warm westerly
glow, and he went back through twilight. He knew now why Barboux had
lagged behind on the Richelieu, in scorn of discipline. The man must
be entrusted with some secret missive of Montcalm's, and, being
puffed up with it, had in a luckless hour struck out a line of his
own. To turn back now would mean his ruin; might end in his standing
up to be shot with his back to a wall. . . .

Between the narrow walls of the pass night was closing down rapidly.
John lifted his face towards the strip of sky aloft, greenish-blue
and tranquil. . . .

He fell back--his heart, after one leap, freezing--slowly freezing to
a standstill; his hands spreading themselves against the face of the
rock.

What voice was that, screaming? . . . one--two--three--horrible human
screams, rending the twilight, beating down on his ears, echoing from
wall to wall. . . .

The third and last scream died out in a low, bubbling wail.
Close upon it rose a sound which John could not mistake--the whoop of
Indians. He plucked his hands from the rock, and ran; but, as he
turned to run, in the sudden silence a body thudded down upon the
path behind him.

In twenty strides he was back again at the issue of the pass.
The two Indians had vanished. Barboux's gross body alone blocked the
pale daylight there. Barboux lingered a moment, stooping over the
murdered ma